Gravity
by WRITES
Summary: You loved me because I was fragile, but now all my fragile strength is gone. Here I am, and I stand so strong; just the way I'm supposed to be. But you're still holding on. Why won't you just let go? I don't want to fall another moment into your gravity.
1. Childhood Bully

**Chapter 1: Childhood Bully**

He felt the smoothness of the pebbles between his fingers, like small BB pellets in his hand. Examining them, he tossed them back onto the ground. The boys behind him smirked as he picked up a handful of more jagged rocks. Their serrated edges pressed into his palm and he rolled them casually in his hand. This has been his daily routine for as long he could remember. It brought him some form of contentment; fulfilling an empty part of him he would never realize existed until many years later. She was huddled by the tree before him and he grinned wickedly. There was a deep purple bruise beneath her eye and her face was inflamed from his punches. Her swollen lip had a bleeding gash from where he had hit it. In the moment she looked up, her piteous eyes pleading him to cease this torture, he hurled the rocks at her. He relished in the piercing scream that ripped from her throat.

He wasn't sure why he ever began to these terrible things, but he felt he had to. She always forgave him, no matter what he did. He hated it.


	2. Recess

**Chapter 2: Recess**

"Hey ugly!" he called from the door frame, his chubby hands cupped around his mouth. His blue shirt was stained with snack time's grape juice and his laces were tied in a messy knot.

She turned at the sound of his voice and then turned away, moving her dolls slowly around the small house she had built from sticks for them. It crudely resembled a tipi and was held together with her bright pink hair band. When she no longer paid attention to his yelling, he stomped over to her spot by the jungle gym. His cronies followed closely behind him and began laughing at her small tipi.

"Hey! I was talking to you, ugly!" he yelled, pulling her hair sharply. She simply shook her head, refusing to look at him.

"Go away, Paul." she whispered, sniffling at the warm tears that burned behind her lids.

"I'm talking to you!" he yelled, his temper flaring at her apparent refusal. When she did not look at him, he lifted his foot and crushed the small wooden house she had built for the dolls.

She stopped playing with her dolls and placed them gently beside her. He kicked the ground and dirt sprayed over her legs and dolls. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and shook her head around.

"Next time, look at me when I'm talking. Got it?" he said before letting go and walking away.

She tried to hold in her crying but it was too difficult. Her tears stung with the burning pain of embarrassment and self-defeat. It was a daily routine; he bullied her constantly from the moment she entered the class to the moment she stepped out. Teachers brushed it off as playful teasing, and she never told her parents. She didn't want them to remove her from her school. She didn't want to move from La Push.

Lifting her dolls, she shook out the dirt and watched as they fell in a sprinkling back to their home. Even though they fell in a flurry of black, they landed neatly into their respective places on the ground. Collecting the sticks from the ruined tipi she wrapped her hair band around them and tucked them into her skirt pocket. She picked up one of the dolls and gently brushed off the flecks that had pooled around her eyes. There was a smudge on her cheek that refused to be wiped clean. Staring at the doll she brushed the hair back. She wouldn't go away.

The only audible sound was the white noise of crayons scratching against paper. They were coloring a map of Washington. She carefully traced the state first; outlining it in a pretty blue and then filling it with a softer shade. Inconspicuously, she peeked at the mess of color Paul was creating beside her and stifled a giggle. His ears caught it, however, and he dropped his crayon into the communal box before them.

"What are you looking at, ugly?" he snarled, his hand grabbing another crayon, this time from her personal stack.

She remained silent and continued to color her state, choosing to not say that his state was not such a masterpiece.

"You think my drawing's ugly?" he pushed, shoving her aggressively. The action caused her to draw a long, jagged dark blue line across her state. She stared at the line and calmly lowered her crayon.

"Woops." he said derisively, drawing a thick black line over her page to worsen the drawing. When she responded only by picking another blue and continuing to color, he clenched his fist and swiped her small stack of crayons off the table. They clattered to the floor; breaking in halves, their colorful shards scattered everywhere. The sound was drowned in the noise of students yelling and playing around them, work forgotten. The teacher was chatting on the telephone, ignorant to her surroundings.

Her chair screeched as she pushed away from the table, his eyes watching her every movement. She bent down and began to brush the pieces towards her with her hands. She felt his uncomfortable gaze upon her but paid it no mind, her nose prickly with tears. They fell like tiny clear beads on the tiled floor, making small pools of paint from the crayon's colorful pieces. His mouth quivered slightly, his ounce of shame appearing on his face.

"Sorry, Jenna..." he said.

"It's okay, Paul." she said softly.


	3. Elementary

**Chapter 3: Elementary**

"_One's dignity may be assaulted, vandalized and cruelly mocked, but cannot be taken away unless it is surrendered"_

_- Morton Kondrake_

She focused intently on the feeling of the plastic handles within her control. She could do this. It was Field Day at school and the children were allowed to ride the small tricycles that were normally locked away in the school yard shed. Though it was sturdy and in fair condition, the bike seemed to come loose at every bolt when she peddled. It felt very unsafe and she was afraid of falling. So far, she had only peddled a few feet from the courtyard. The sun was bright and there was a mild, invigorating breeze.

Breathing in deeply through her nose, she forced her trembling legs to move and gently peddled the bike. It inched slowly across the pavement, the world at a halt as she carefully counted the peddles. Five. She smiled and stopped; it was enough. A light perspiration had appeared on her temples and she wiped it away with her sleeve. It was enough for today. A distant gravelly sound carried across the wind, but she only leaned back into her seat and admired her fellow classmates intrepidly riding their tricycles.

"What's wrong , ugly? Too scared to ride a tricycle?" a sneering voice said from behind her, shattering the peaceful moment.

She turned her head slightly and saw Paul's two associates smirking at her.

"She's a loser," said one of them, shaking his dark head at her.

"I think she just needs a little help." said the other, dismounting his tricycle and walked towards her.

Her body seemed to liquefy and the fierce pounding of her heart resounded in her ears. He came around front and gripped both handles of her tricycle, seemingly guiding the bike forward. When he continued to move along the path slowly, she felt slightly calmed. Suddenly, he twisted the handles sharply and she tumbled off the bike. There was a stabbing pain in her knee and it traveled up her body. Her hands scraped along the courtyard tarmac and she screamed as the unclean earth came into contact with her wounds. Her tears mixed with the dirt in a gray pool beneath her face.

They stomachs were gripped with laughter and it only seemed to make the moment even more unbearable. She gripped the small weeds that sprouted in the tarmac's cracks as she struggled to get up, each hiccup causing a quiver in her chest. Their hooting laughter was soon interrupted by the screech of tricycle wheels halting.

"Hey!" he yelled viciously.

His voice only served to further humiliate her and she wiped her face with her fists, smearing dirt across her cheeks and forehead. The cronies turned at the sound of Paul's voice and immediately ran towards their bikes, snickering as they rode away. She carefully stood, limping towards her tricycle. The scrape on her knew had begun a steady discharge of blood, leaving dark trails along her skin. She moved the bike slowly, taking careful steps toward the shed. She looked up at him as she walked past, her eyes holding his. When he did not speak, she looked away and continued her walk. When she turned, his gaze was still on her and she felt warm tears spring in her eyes once more.

She was hoarse from yelling, her muscles sore and her eyes stinging with tears.

"No one's gonna hear you out here, ugly." he told her as he began to unscrew one of the caps from the bottle.

She had gone to the restroom during lunch and they had waited outside the door, grabbing her and covering her mouth before she could say a word. They dragged her to the janitor's storage in the now empty courtyard. Her tears left streaks of clean in the mud caked on her face. One of the boys covered her mouth with his hand as the other poured the bottle of tempera paint over her head, a deep blue staining the surface. She couldn't look up into Paul's face; his staring eyes mortifying. He was leaning against the tulip poplar beside the storage watching his friends execute the torment. While the other boy held fast to her arms, the other sifted through his backpack and procured a scissor without safety edges. He waved it at Paul and grinned. When Paul didn't move he opened and closed the scissor, imitating the action of cutting.

"Don't tell me Paulie has a soft sport for ugly?" the boy said mockingly, twirling the scissor in a circle.

An angry scowl appeared on his face and he strode over to his boy, grabbing the scissors from his hand.

"Don't be ridiculous." Paul said, opening and closing the scissor a few times.

Taking a chunk of hair from the front of her head, he cut off a few inches and proceeded to do so all around. He cut it in a hideous fashion, ripping out the scissor when it became tangled, oblivious to her cries and pleas. He wasn't sure whether it was pity or perhaps even his miniscule sentiment of compassion, but he never cut too close to the scalp where it would be impossible to get a haircut to fix the mess.


	4. The End of Farewell

**Chapter 4: The End of Farewell**

She watched the sunset descend lower and lower into the horizon, her back resting lightly against the poplar. The fleeting rays of sunlight warmed her face and glinted brightly on the small diamonds of her bracelet. The soil was moist and grainy beneath her fingers, smearing on the back of her legs. She watched ladybugs fly languidly in and between the blades of grass. It was 5:25 on the last day of school and she waited patiently to be picked up. After-school Care had already been released and her mother was running late from work. A ladybug landed on her backpack. She gently touched her hair, twisting a few strands around her finger.

He walked out from behind the shed, his footsteps crunching along the gravel walkway. She watched him, his gaze never leaving hers, as he walked around the trash bin and sat down on the opposite side of the tree. He sighed as he leaned back, tossing his backpack beside hers. There was only silence between them, both relaxing in the company of the other. Sometimes silences said more than words.

As the sun dipped lower into set, she shifted against the tree and caught the petals that fell.

"This is my last day here," she said softly, twirling a petal in her between her fingers. When he did not reply, she continued. "We're moving to Los Angeles, where my dad's firm is going."

"Oh..." he said softly. He moved slightly, rocks grating against each other as he did so. After a long pause, he sucked in breath. "Jenna I'm—"

"It's okay Paul; I know you didn't mean it." she replied calmly. She carefully held the folded paper in her palm, its heavily creased folds like the ones in her heart. A tear drop escaped her eye and she watched as it fell onto the paper, leaving a small, rippled circle on the paper.

"Why do you always forgive me? I'm a bad person..."

"Because you're not a bad person. Everyone has good in them, Paul." she responded wisely.

"Not me," he replied, her words carving themselves into his heart.

"Yes, even you."

"Are you even coming back?" he asked, his hand gripping a small blade of grass.

"I don't think so..." she responded.

He tore the blade of grass in two, splitting it down the middle.

She heard the distant sound of a car beeping and her name being called. Standing, she brushed the dirt from her legs and tucked the folded paper into her pocket. She also heard Paul's friends in the distance and picked up her backpack, tightening the flaps so that it fit snugly. Paul turned around and watched her and she turned around to smile at him.

"I hope that we can still be friends." she said, her pretty smile glowing in the final light of day. Their footsteps stopped as they watched the exchange of words between her and Paul. She watched Paul as he looked behind her at his friends.

"Yeah right." he sneered, picking up his backpack and slinging it on his back.

"I'm sorry..." she whispered as he brushed past her, hitting her shoulder with his own rudely.

Clapping his friends on the back, he walked away from Jenna and towards the school yard. His words burned deeply in his heart and he let his mouth twist into a nasty scowl. But he really wanted to frown, a pain somewhere in his heart. He would never see Jenna again for a long time. Not for seven years, his senior year of high school. Though her memory of Paul disappeared in the promise of Los Angeles, he would never forget Jenna.

"_... you're not a bad person." _


	5. Awakening

**Chapter 5: Awakening**

The sound of the alarm blared in his ear and he groaned, turning over and slamming his hand down upon the small machine. It was easily crushed and he sighed before throwing the sheets from his body. He sat up on the bed and stretched his muscle groups one by one. His back made a sequence of cracks and he sighed at the relief of pressure. Normally fast and agile, he moved lethargically through the hallway into the bathroom, hitting his feet clumsily against every corner. He flinched at the appearance reflected in the mirror.

The hair on the left side of his head was spiraled upwards in a tornado-like fashion while the right was completely flat. It had seen better mornings. Tiredly, he entered the shower and allowed the water to rinse away his stress. Sam had them on double shifts, and being one of the older ones, he was given the earlier hours. He eyed the time on the shower clock and sighed again. It as six; he had remembered going to sleep at three after his patrol. That, however, was not the most troubling thing on his mind. It had happened again last night, as it had been doing for the past few months. The dreams used to come once in a while; perhaps only once every other month. Now it was every night; each one more vivid than the next, though still the same length. It was never a complete dream, only pieces and fragments of memories stitched together.

She was always an age that he remembered, never older or younger. In the best, she was smiling at him, waving her hand in a way that made the sunlight glimmer on her thin diamond bracelet. In the worst, she was staring at him pleadingly; hair painted and cut, small cuts seeping blood. He quickly shook his head at the thought and instinctively touched his heart, feeling a sharp pain at the memory. Before he could be swallowed in regret and shame, he turned off the water and stepped out.

Choosing a deep indigo v-cut shirt from his closet, he pulled it over his head and slipped on a pair of jeans. He did not normally wear jeans, accustomed to shorts, but smiled at his reflection. The shirt seemed to adhere to his body like a second skin, drawing attention to every curve and bulge of muscle. He remembered it being looser fitting. He shrugged, deciding it was more attractive tighter. He ran a hand through his hair a few times, fluffing the back before smoothing it down. He checked his watch and was glad it was only six thirty; giving him enough time to crash Sam's breakfast with Emily.

He kissed his mother on the cheek and slapped his father's back before stealing the toast presently in the toaster. He swallowed them in two bites and started his Jeep, raising the music to an obnoxiously loud volume.

The parking lot was filled with students, new and old. The symphony of car beeps, yelling, and loud music that was the morning rush was oddly comforting. He beeped three times, unnecessarily extending the last beep, at Jared's car as he waited for him to pull into a space. Jared finally pulled in and he quickly steered his car into the nearest space. Walking to Jared's car, he gave the hood a nice smack before opening the door for Kim and waiting for Jared to come around. They grinned at each other and walked through the crowd. The La Push Senior High was bursting with freshmen and their runaway maps floated in the breeze over their heads.

He spotted his lupine posse near the lunch tables and sat down beside Quil, joining them for third breakfast. One of them had been kind enough to buy McDonald's breakfast platters and he devoured his quickly. As they ate, they watched the new kids walk around, gripping their maps tightly, dazed and seemingly lost. The first day of school was always stressful. But it was also an exciting time; new friends, new experiences, so many things to discover in high school.

High school for him, unfortunately, had not always been a walk in paradise. His first two years were filled with the insecurity of puberty, long "talks," and pain. The pain of rejection, of anger, and of helplessness; the pain of being vulnerable, and not being able to control oneself. His junior year was much better; he bonded with his friends on a much deeper level, and found a niche with his new strength. Lacrosse.

"Hottie at twelve o'clock." said Brady as he scoped through the large crowd.

They all turned their heads at the place Brady was looking and all he could see was a flurry of dark hair. It glimmered brilliantly in the morning sun, pinned back only on one side with a blue clip.

The world seemed to move in slow motion.

Her skin was a sunny bronze, but still dark like the Quileutes. Her brows were perfectly shaped and defined and her lashes were curled upwards, not straight like most girls here. Her lips seemed to be naturally a strawberry color and he loved the way they spread into a smile, so bright and happy. The light breeze moved her scent towards him and he stood up, closing his eyes to breathe it in. It was wonderful; a sweet blend of chamomile and honey. She was as beautiful as he remembered.

The chains of that held him to this world broke away and his whole body seemed to be floating in nothing but her presence. Everything around him was a blur of colors and shapes. She was all he could see. Her gaze passed over his table and her smile broke out again as she laughed with friends. When did she return? Why didn't she come back sooner? He could almost imagine a pair of wings extending above her. It was as if someone had shocked him; electricity was coursing through his body, but there was no pain. It was amazing, this feeling.

He had to talk to her.

He stepped out from the table and shook his head when Quil attempted to ask him something. He took a few slow steps forward, unaccustomed to functioning normally under these feelings. He'd never felt this before. His cheeks were burning from the width of his smile but he couldn't even think of ceasing to.

The image of his angel was shattered when a hand reached within his sight. The hand slowly enclosed around hers and he suddenly felt the familiar heat run down his spine. The figure stepped out from the crowd and smiled at her. He was wearing a Letterman jacket over his uniform and he had a group of guys trailing behind him. His dark hair was neatly styled and he carried a smile that made girls swoon.

Josh Hart.

His body was quivering. The guys stood up and began to encircle Paul, blocking his view and that of others. He pushed them away and struggled against the strong restraint Jacob held around his waist. He couldn't tear his gaze away from her; the pain of Josh standing beside her was unbearable. Then, as if the situation could worsen no more, Josh placed a kiss on her cheek.

The last thing he remembered was the feeling of stepping into a volcano, heat engulfing him. It was the heat of a passion so deep and the burn of her hold on his heart.


	6. Past Nightmare

**Chapter 6: Past Nightmare**

He watched the back of her head move slightly as someone beside her passed a note to a friend. He had been staring at her the entire class period, completely oblivious to the teacher's droning voice. Due to the loveliness of the day, the window blinds had been lifted and gentle sunlight warmed the room. The light danced along her hair, the shine contrasting richly against the dark color. It was down today, held from her face by a sparkly blue headband. He had noted that she liked blue. He decided he would wear blue tomorrow and everyday following. He winced at the memory of the time he had cut it so hideously in grade school.

It had been a perfect day so far. Upon arrival to school, he had immediately searched the parking lot, cafeteria, and library, to no avail. A few minutes before the late bell, he was going to return Jared's physics book to his locker. As he turned the dial, trying to dexterously match the numbers with his large hands, he caught a note of her scent. He hurriedly looked around and saw his angel standing by her locker, retrieving a forgotten book. Motionless, he watched as she removed the book, closed the locker, and walked away from him. His heart clenched in his chest. Then the late bell rang.

It was strange how things seemed to work. In Marine Biology, he had been hoping he would be seated somewhere near her, close enough to be able to see her when he looked around. He was dispirited, however, when Mr. Roth sat him in the last seat of the row farthest from the front. She, of course, was seated in the first chair of the first row. Typical. He sighed and walked to his seat, passing down her row and casually brushing his leg against hers. Though it was for only a second, energy seemed to course through him. The moment her knee, covered by darkly washed jeans, brushed his bare knee he felt a flutter in his heart. It seemed to skip a beat.

The most fortunate thing that had passed today was that Josh Hart was absent. The first day he discovered Josh shared a class with him and Jenna: AP Calculus. It was the only class of their seven that Josh was present. As if the situation could not worsen, Josh sat directly behind her, while he, naturally, was subjected to the back of the room. The first day, when he discovered this, he burned with anger. If it were not for the sake of his reputation and the image he wished to uphold for her, he would have punched Josh when he began to twirl her hair with his pencil. She merely turned and gave him a pretty, closed smile. He watched her and tried with all his might to make her look beyond Josh at him. When she turned away he held tightly to the pencil in his hand; not even sparing a flinch when the splinters cut his skin.

Right as the teacher was about to call out the homework, the lunch bell rang and he bolted from his seat. He waved at one of his friends and watched Jenna exit the classroom from his peripheral vision. It had greatly improved. She was laughing about something, her brilliant smile seemingly illuminating the entire hallway. He smiled; everything about her was so lively and bright. It was if she hadn't one care in the world. He could never keep count of how many times she graced others with her smile. It was beautiful.

When she disappeared in the crowd he could no longer see her blue headband, he smiled and made his way to the cafeteria.

The lunch bell was like the gunshot of a race. The moment its piercing sound rang through the air, the mad dash began. Everyone raced to the cafeteria, eager to have a plate before it went cold. The halls were filled with the chorus of clattering books, slamming lockers, and feet pounding on the floor. The cafeteria doors seemed to physically swell apart as students forced their way in, squeezing between bodies in a way that seemed inhumanly possible. The lure of food was stronger than anything else after four classes of stress. His hungry stomach seemed to answer the call of mealtime as it growled loudly in the line. Some looked back and laughed; he merely shrugged and gave a comical grin in return. He had the right to be dying of starvation.

Turning around at the call of his name, he spotted Jacob in the mess of a line and waved him to the front where he stood. Raising his hands in defense at those who protested to the skipping, Jacob grinned and clapped Paul's back.

"Thanks man. How was it?" Jacob asked, referring to his class with Jenna.

"Amazing." he replied, taking a tray and placing a milk carton on it.

"Aw, how cute." Jacob responded, mockingly rubbing his shoulder in affection.

"Shut up," Paul replied, taking a slice of pizza from the cafeteria lady. He enviously watched as Jacob gave the lady a flashy smile and she placed two slices on his plate.

Catching his look, Jacob shrugged playfully and skipped in front of him to the cashier. He punched in his number and paid an extra dollar for a bag of chips. He tossed the bag onto Paul's tray and smiled.

"Happy birthday, lovebird."

Jenna sat two tables away from them, next to a few girls he knew and the volleyball guys. She had brought her own lunch which consisted of a bottle of apple juice, a sandwich, Triscuits, and a small bag of cookies. It was all neatly packed into a purple lunch bag with small butterfly designs on the front. He admired her kindness; she shared everything that came in more than a pair. She had been listening to a story a friend was retelling of a party she had missed, but now she had begun to talk. He focused on a point in the opposite wall and attempted to tune out any sound but her voice. His brow creased and slowly the noise of the cafeteria dissipated, the only sound audible being her voice. It was smooth and melodic, varying nuances of tone as the story climaxed. He closed his eyes and focused on the manner in which it sounded when vowels were pronounced or when she laughed. Her laugh was more of a giggle, sweet and tinkling like a small bell. He smiled.

He was shaken from his reverie by a large body squeezing into the small space of seat between him and the edge. Seth had somehow managed to sit down and turned to grin at his annoyed expression.

"I'm sorry, did I interrupt your creeper session?" he said teasingly and took a chip from his bag.

"Hey!" he said, staring incredulously at Seth's hand, "I'm already on a diet in this place."

"You can spare a few pounds." Seth replied, eating the chip slowly; savoring every last grain of salt.

The "diet" system was implemented by Sam last year. They were only allowed a specific amount of food to protect their true identities as wolves. Each week they had to observe the quantity of food consumed by their classmates and adjust accordingly. Even Embry, who brought his own lunch, was only allowed a basic amount. The diet was partially to blame for their decreased performance in academics during the remaining classes. Fortunately, practice began at three twenty; this gave him sufficient time to run to Emily's and gorge on second lunch.

Lunchtime to them was a play; something rehearsed and everyone with their own part to perform. They conversed normally as friends would; smiling in their anxiety and discussing the day's adventures. The most lighthearted of the group seemed to amplify their personalities solely for such occasion. It was if they were trying to string together the entire pack; playing everyone's part for them. From the outside perspective, they appeared to be a group of very close friends, which they were, but they had not always been so. In fact, the first time they sat for lunch, it was terribly awkward. They were merely teenagers pulled abruptly from the normalcy of their lives and thrown into the hurricane that was being a wolf. The sudden, intense emotions that seemed to control every action, the feeling of submission to a greater being, and the burden of responsibility weighing twice fold upon their shoulders. In a time when self-esteem is merely budding and self-discovery is just beginning to map its course, being a werewolf can be more of a hindrance than a blessing.

Their personalities contrasted sharply during these moments; obscure tastes and differences deterring friendship. It was as if someone had collected nine strangers and forced them to share a bond only found in best friends, their sole similarity being their lupine alter egos.

Fortunately, the diffident of the group were eclipsed by the gregarious members' strident voices and crude etiquette. Though Quil was indisputably the most civilized at lunch, he could be transformed into a boor when Seth and Collin joined the table. Their boisterous mannerisms and tear-worthy jokes seemed to extract unruly behavior from even the most refined. It was not long before a kernel of corn flew by his face and across the table to Brady. He swatted it away before pretending to focus intently on his salad. When Collin was distracted, he flung a tomato slice with his fork and it landed on his shirt, leaving behind a pink stain.

"Ugh, seriously man." Collin said as he peeled the tomato from his white shirt.

Paul sighed and stood, deciding to leave before the two of them began a food fight in the cafeteria. Somehow, their lunchtime battles always escalated to the point where it included everyone else. He searched for Jenna in the crowd of leaving students and began to worry when he saw that she was still seated. He walked towards the trash bins and shot a worried glance at her as Collin, Quil, Seth, and Brady began to barrage each other with food. She had stood and smiled as one of the volleyball guys offered to throw away her lunch with his, and the fire of envy within him burned.

He easily pushed passed the crowd of students attempting to squeeze through the doors before the late bell. He walked at an even pace behind her; trying to look for an opportunity to walk past. Her friends stopped a moment by the bathroom but she waved them off, saying she didn't want to be late. He moved faster and walked past her, gently brushing his shoulder against, and touching the ends of her hair with his fingertips.

"Sorry!" he called behind him, turning and look at her face.

"Its okay." she replied, giving him a small smile.

He wasn't sure whether it was the feel of her hair or her smile, but the moment seemed to golden. Her hair felt like individual threads of silk against his skin; the smooth surface cool and soft. She had said her first two words to him. He could never count all the times he had spoken to her, all the words he had said, yet this was so new. Though it was his childhood, he felt as if it were never a part of his life. As if it was an abandoned exhibit in the museum of his life, dusty and forgotten. The Jenna of his past was erased and this new person drawn in. His feelings had transformed him; he would never be the same.

He watched as Hart kissed her goodbye and jumped in the 3:15 varsity bus. He controlled himself as she waved at him, blowing him a kiss and watching it drive away. The bus was driving them to their away game in Seattle. It had picked the boys up in the driveway by the football storage room. She was the only one left and he watched as she leaned against the wall, looking off into the distance. He took a breath and tried to calm his nerves; the butterflies in his stomach were flying in every direction. He approached her and smiled as she turned to look at him. She smiled kindly in return. He almost opened his mouth to speak, but refrained when he felt his words fall back into his throat.

"Hey," she said in a friendly manner, her smile still in place.

"Hey there." he replied and moved closer to her. He leaned against the wall near her and attempted to feel the energy between them. His nerves began to lose control once again.

"I'm Jenna." she said happily, her name rolling gently off her tongue. He smiled internally at the name.

There was a moment of silence and she looked away uncomfortably, unsure of the reason for his lack of an introduction. He looked down at the pavement; its baleful countenance seemed to hang a dark cloud over him.

"I thought you said you weren't coming back." he said quietly, keeping his gaze on the ground. He did not have to look to see her expression of surprise; her heartbeat rising sharply. But then it slowed, and she looked away. He was not sure whether she was ashamed or confused. The silence resumed its place in the exchange of words.

"My parents got a divorce last summer." she said softly, twisting her fingers behind her back. They scraped against the wall. The air between them soured and neither chose to admit the discomfort of the confrontation.

He remained silent and once again tried to control his emotions.

"My mom and I moved back here with my grandparents while we looked for a place."

"How'd you and Hart get together?" he asked tersely, before realizing the tone he had used. He sensed that she heard and understood the direction of his question.

"Josh."

"Whatever." he replied, his anger piquing at her correction. Great. Now her sentimentalities covered the addressing of his person.

"He's our realtor's son. I met him on one of the trips we took to see a house."

He could feel her anxiety at being alone with him. Another silence overtook the moment and he fought the burn in his eyes. He was not going to cry in front of her. The conversation had begun to head in the direction he wanted to avoid— accusing. He knew he was hurting her already.

"Why didn't you tell me…" he whispered, his hand gripping the inside of his pockets. When she said nothing, he glanced at her. She was looking at the ground. Her eyes searched it for the answer.

"I didn't think you would care…" she responded.

He turned and walked away, her words searing themselves in his heart. He had not wanted their meeting to transpire in this way. The burn in his heart sweltered and the pain blistered the surface of his conscious. He wiped viciously at his eyes, furious that he had allowed himself to cry. Their sting only served to remind him of the past he thought he had buried.


	7. Burned

**Chapter 7: Burned**

Anyone who wished to learn about Paul would need to learn about him in his particular details. They would need to understand the deep, complex emotions that swirled inexorably within him. They would need to learn his passions, his dreams, and his pains; his passion for lacrosse, his dream of one day becoming a policeman, and the pain of his grief. His grief, which seemed to stem from his childhood, was restless as it pervaded his thoughts. This grief came from their meeting yesterday. It was as if every event that had transpired between his birth and their meeting no longer held any purpose or significance in his life. The thought of her melodic voice speaking to him sweetened his memories, but it was bittersweet. They were tainted with violence and foolish actions. He cringed at all the times he had spent with her; all the opportunities he had to establish a solid acquaintance, or perhaps even nurture a friendship.

Yet he had wasted them all, blinded by childish pretenses and stoic egotism.

Her absence from first and second period hurt him and he wondered if it was his fault. Deciding to include it as a reason, he began to conjure a diverse set of calamities that could have befallen her. He drummed his fingers against the wooden desk. Time seemed to move at a lethargic pace this morning, the clock ticking between a complete drum of his fingertips.

_Maybe she's sick... Or her car broke down... Maybe a meteor fell out of the sky and landed on Josh._

He smiled wryly at the last thought and then sighed, the ticking of the clock in time with his fingers. He stared at her empty desk; no trace of her ever having been seated in the chair. His gaze was disrupted when a squarely folded paper landed on his desk. He lifted the paper and turned around; Jared had catapulted the note with a rubber band from the back of the room. He grinned and opened the small note.

_Could you honestly be anymore obvious?_

His grin dropped and he scribbled a rude answer below Jared's neat handwriting before tossing it behind him. The only notification of Jared having read his response was the scrape of paper being touched and a muffled laugh that reached his ears. He concentrated on the sound of Jared's pen make a soft scratchy noise as he wrote something in their note. Within a few moments the paper appeared on his desk he picked up his pencil.

_Ready for the first practice of the year?_

He smiled and wrote "yes" on the next line. He refolded the paper and was about to toss it behind him once again but refrained and quickly hid it beneath his textbook. The teacher's gaze had traveled the room and he waited until she was once again distracted by the voice playing in the disk player. It was a dramatic, raspy voice narrating Edgar Allen Poe's short story _The Black Cat._ He typically enjoyed the days they heard the narration, finding Poe's stories interesting, but today his mind was preoccupied with Jenna. He hoped she would decide to skip AP Cal and appear during fifth period. He did not think his control would be able to endure another hour of Hart twisting her precious locks around a pencil. The bell rang and he crumpled the paper in his fist.

"Definitely am." he said to Jared as he walked beside him down the crowded hall. He heard Embry's voice in the distance yelling about visual perspective.

"Me too. I've been waiting all summer!"

"I just wished she were here today. I wonder if something did happen…" he mumbled to Jared, fidgeting with his backpack straps in discomfort.

"Stop worrying," said Embry as he walked past them towards his locker, "I just had art with her."

His heart instantly warmed and a sense of relief moved calmly into his mind. She was here. She was safe. He walked hurriedly to his next period, telling Jared he'd text him. Jared waved back before being suddenly distracted by Kim's greeting. He smiled inwardly at Jared's attention span; he couldn't blame him though, he didn't have any classes with Kim this year. He searched the classroom as he walked in, but she had yet to arrive. His stomach twisted itself into a knot; partly because of seeing her and partly because he wanted to talk to her again. Yesterday's mishaps seemed to tighten the knot, however, and he was consciously aware of the quiet reluctance in his thoughts.

Saving him from his self-infliction, Jenna walked in like an angel and he almost smiled when she looked at him. He almost smiled… Her eyes were defensive and she quickly looked away, her body language signaling she wanted to avoid any contact with him. This hurt him and he stared continually at the back of her head, trying to psych her into looking back. He wondered if maybe he should leave her alone… His phone vibrated softly in his shorts and he pulled it out, watching the teacher turn away to the computer to input attendance. The screen displayed a small envelope with a flashing number one and he opened the message.

_Btw, it's at the bottom in a little ball._

He stared at the message; it was from Jared. He looked towards the front of the room but Jared was facing another direction, telling a joke to another student. What was he talking about?

"Good morning, everyone." Mr. King said as he faced the class, a black bowler hat in his hand.

"As we begin our study of European history, I decided to have a sort of mini project to start off the year."

He moved his palms anxiously against the desk's edge.

"It will be worth five quiz grades and I'll hand out a sheet explaining the details in a second. It's going to be a fair amount of work so I decided to split you up in pairs."

His eyes widened and he looked over to Jared who merely winked.

"We have thirty students. I randomly put in the names of fifteen students in this hat. I will call fifteen other students, whose names are not in this hat, to draw a slip and whosever name you pull, will be your partner."

A light perspiration dotted his temples as he watched the people rise to their names and draw from the hat.

_What if someone draws her name?_

So far, thankfully, no one had drawn hers but the number was reaching ten and his name still had not been called. He discreetly wiped his palms against his shorts. He was finally called at thirteen and released the breath he had been holding. He walked slowly past her desk, her leg moving quickly out of the way before he could brush against it, and approached the hat. There were two papers left; his golden ticket was folded in an irregular sphere, just as Jared promised. He quickly reached for that one and unfolded it, calling the name out as everyone else had.

"Jenna Young." he said with a smooth grin.

He watched as her eyes widened, the horror at being his partner swirling in their depths. Though he kept his grin, he could not ignore the stab that pierced his heart.

The wind was cool against his face as he jogged back into the school parking lot. His stomach growled at his hunger. Emily had a sandwich the size of toaster prepared for him but it did not completely fill him. He ignored it and walked towards the locker rooms, flexing his muscles in anticipation.

There was something wistful and slightly comforting about the locker room. Its coolness permeating the air and relaxing the body after an intense workout. He loved opening his locker and reading the scribbles and writings left by students from previous years. It humbled him almost; reminding him that there were many who enjoyed sports and used his locker, and there would be many after him as well. He smiled as he pulled on his gear, Jared knocking on the door of his locker to signal his arrival. The moment Jared pulled the remainder of his clothes, he shut the locker door and leaned against.

"How did you know?" he asked skeptically, unsure of Jared's tactics.

"Detention," he stated simply, fixing the wrinkled hem of his shorts, "King had me write out the names and put them in the hat then let me off early."

Paul merely shook his head and shoved Jared before walking out. Amazed as he was, he could not control the feelings of happiness that sprung from being her partner. For two whole weeks he would be able to spend time with Jenna; converse with her, laugh with her, and try and erase a past a scarring past. Thoughts of his childhood brought with them once again their wretched pain. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind, as he stepped onto the field. Though he tried to think of her smile, the sadness in his heart began to affect his game. Coach yelled at him to wake up and he made a play for the ball, effortlessly evading a check. It was a clear shot and he was sure he saw the goal's rope splinter.

They were given a five minute break and he wiped the sweat from his brow. He took the opportunity to search the bleachers as he walked towards the water pipes. There were only a couple of people, soccer boys taking rest and a few cheerleaders. He waved at Embry, Brady, and Jacob as they kicked around a soccer ball, their practice jerseys already stained with dirt. His grin soured, however, as he drank the warm water, its particular flavor disgusting. They were soon called back onto the field and he stretched his neck muscles, feeling a crick forming.

Practice ended at five thirty, their coach saying it was only the first practice. He deposited his racquet in the basin by the door and cleaned the perspiration from his face with his shirt, thankful for his mother's consideration in buying the cotton type. The muscles in his back began to burn with soreness and he decided to take a shower, his mind in a blank post-workout daze. The rest of the team soon followed his example, complaints about soreness soon filling the locker bathroom. The heat of the bathroom served to relax the tense muscles in his back as he breathed in the clean smell of soap. He reached a bottle of shampoo from Jared's white rack and poured a fair dollop into his palm. Its clean, mint scent was refreshing and cooled his scalp. It also served to clear his thoughts, allowing him to concentrate on the sound of flowing water... and Jenna...

He waved goodbye to his teammates and picked up his bag, leaving the sanctuary of the locker room. The air was brisk and cool, the smell of imminent rain lingering. He decided to take the longer route, enjoying the solitude and tranquility provided by the school grounds after hours. Only a few students remained on campus, waiting to be picked up or for the after-school bus. He missed Jenna. The expression she gave him earlier today had left a deep mark on him. He did not want her to think of him as something to be feared, or worse, a monster.

He ran a hand over his face and through his hair, the stress of his predicament becoming unbearable. A sweet smell suddenly caressed his senses and he looked up instantly, following the scent to her. It twirled around the school but it was strongest from the circular area where they had met yesterday. As he neared the area, a breezier, more masculine smell invaded his nose. He stood behind the storage room as he watched the scene, his lip curling up in revulsion.

He held her hands in his, their fingers intertwined. He had first kissed her forehead, then her nose, and then both her cheeks before her lips. To anyone else, it appeared gentle and sweet. He smiled and kissed her cheek against, hugging her and resting his chin atop her head. But to him, it was sickening and vile. He gripped the edge of the building for control, the cement fissuring beneath the pressure. She held his face between her hands and kissed the corner of his mouth, holding their foreheads together.

He released the building and began to walk away, his body quivering violently. He began to walk faster as he felt a scorching feather tickle his spine. He shook his shoulders, their movements sporadic and pushing him to transform. He clenched his fists, twisting his face into a frown as he concentrated.

_Stay in control... Stay in control... Stay in control..._

He parked his car unevenly in the driveway and jumped out, his clothes ripping at his change. He channeled his fury into his run, blocking out the patronizing voices. But when he stopped, he could not control the sadness that soon consumed him...


	8. Friendship

Chapter 8: Frienship

It was a strange feeling. He called it a strange feeling because it was not one he could easily describe. It was a feeling that was entrenched in the pit of his stomach; swirling and blooming whenever she walked by. It was similar to the feeling of being tickled, but also warming and faintly soothing. It made his heart seem to skip beats and made him slightly dizzy at her scent. He felt as though he were drifting through life, a pair of wings gliding him over his troubles. It was as if he was not a part of this world, floating continuously, never touching any emotion but this one. Things that were once important to him no longer seemed to have much significance. He sometimes skipped practice to watch her playing volleyball in the gym. She would watch him then, clearly discomforted by his presence, her stare causing a prickly sensation on his skin. But he would only smile, oblivious to anything, completely entranced by this wonderful being.

It was Thursday which meant no practice for any teams. It was somewhat of a boon; giving players a rest from their labors. He walked dreamily through the hallway, unlocking his locker slowly. Nothing affected him today; today was special. Today was the first day he would be working with Jenna. It had been a week since the project was assigned and she had immediately decided they would do as much work as possible separately, in hopes that they would both finish without the other's assistance. She had not realized, however, the amount of work this project entailed. It was a greater deal than she had expected and knew she could not accomplish it alone. She had approached him earlier today and confessed her realization, to which he did not laugh or tease, and asked if he would like to meet somewhere to work on the project. He instantly offered his house, and she rebuffed the idea, saying that perhaps it would be best to work in a library where they had more resources. He agreed, happy to see a small grin appear on her face.

He watched her enter the room as he slid into his chair, languorously flipping his textbook to the lesson written on the board. She had tied her hair into a high ponytail whose fastening had slid down halfway. Turning sideways to speak to one of her friends, she felt the uneven weight and quickly pulled off the hair band. Retying it, she laughed when Hart sighed behind her as the ponytail whipped his face. Unfortunately, Hart had decided to make an appearance and had thoroughly ruined his previous class. His muscles flexed in anger every time Josh's fingers curled around the ends of her hair, holding it in his hands as he did his work. He took his eyes off only for a moment to look down at the lesson they would be covering. Derivatives.

_Great._

He rolled his eyes as he scribbled his name onto his homework, tapping the shoulder of the person in front of him. He looked up and grinned at the droll way in which the hair band continued to slide down her ponytail. His grin instantly turned into a scowl when Hart pulled it off, slipping it onto his wrist. She turned around and managed an askew glance before the teacher asked her to face the front

"What? Your hair kept hitting me in the face." he whispered behind her, searching through his book bag for a pen.

He could hear the tiny, musical giggle she had made though he knew no one else could. This fact pleased him somehow; as if the laugh were just for him.

Fifteen minutes into the class he had fallen asleep, his team sweater balled into a pillow on the desk. He could not understand how anyone found derivatives interesting, the flow of numbers like a foreign language. He was having a nice dream; Jenna's face smiling at him as he picked up seashells from their sandy imprisonment. They were walking along the beach, the waves aberrantly warm. She was talking to him, her bright eyes looking down at the frothy water that slid casually over their feet. It was about the coming weekend, but he only understood snippets of the conversation, her voice lost in the sound of the waves and breeze. He was not concerned, however, the tips of her silken hair caressing his cheek. The air smelled sweetly of chamomile and honey, the slightly brackish smell of ocean only adding to the dream.

Suddenly she had stopped, turning to face him. Her brows were pulled close as she spoke to him, her hair whipping around her face, her expression anguished. He reached out to put hair behind her ear and she moved his hand away holding it in her palms before releasing it and turning away. The last glimpse he managed was the brilliance of the sun's rays glinting of her hair, her body enveloped in the grace of sunset.

He was roughly shaken awake, a warm hand firmly gripping his shoulder. He woke dazedly, his vision blurred as if he had slept a month. Jared's keen eyes stared down at him before laughing unabashedly, his hand over his stomach.

"What's so funny?" he asked, his words coming out gruffly.

"Dude, you need a mirror," Jared responded, still laughing, "like, badly."

Paul was instantly spurred and threw his books into his bag. Worried about his appearance and realizing he was late for lunch, he walked faster than humanly possible to the bathroom. Jared trailed lazily behind him, bursts of laughter erupting every so often.

He bent his knees before the mirror, having to stoop to be able to see his face. He was horrified; his watch had left a large, deep circle imprinted onto his forehead. The circle was filled with tiny impressions, the metallic details of his watch leaving their mark on his skin.

"You have got to be kidding me!" he yelled, furiously pressing the mark with his hand, trying to smooth the skin.

Jared continued to laugh, leaning against the grimy bathroom wall for support.

"Shut up, man." he said angrily, shoving him as he held his hand over the mark.

"It doesn't look _that_ bad," Jared responded, his laughter silencing, "well yeah, it does." before resuming his fit.

"I'm not going to lunch like this." he decided, walking out of the bathroom, pretending to scratch his head so as to cover the mark.

"Alright, you do whatever, but I'm starving."

"Buy me something will you." he replied, heading in the opposite direction towards the breezeway.

Exiting the main building, he was assaulted by the warm, savory smell of pizza and fried chicken. His mouth began to water but he forced himself away, walking towards the small niche at the end of the breezeway. It was a sitting area lodged between an alternate entrance and an outdoor hall. There were bushes and flowering plants lined alongside the hall, giving the entire space and private setting. Stopping briefly to retie his laces, a sweet fragrance wafted into his nose and he began to walk faster. She couldn't be there. It was a spot that he had found most comforting during his years here, allowing him a moment to think and relax. He could see the crown of her head above the bushes, her heartbeat steady and the smell of strawberry yogurt. Realizing he was barely making a sound, he scuffed his feet against the floor, rounding the corner to the area.

She looked up, alarmed, and he could instantly feel her tension. Her heartbeat had sped up, an irritated expression appearing. A sharp pain entered his heart and he could almost feel the sadness that seeped from the wound. When she continued to glare, he bottled his thoughts and feelings inside and smiled amiably.

"Hey, I didn't expect to find anyone here." he said kindly, walking towards the bench. His closeness obviously discomforted her, but she shuffled to make space, her good manners overruling her aggravated sentiments.

"Neither did I." she replied, her acerbic tone piercing him again.

He breathed a sigh and it was almost as if his calm passed over her as well. Her pressure lowered and he heard the small sigh that escaped her. They remained in a friendly silence, one reminiscent of their youth. Neither chose to interrupt the silence, both enjoying the bench as a personal reprieve. He watched as she scooped the remaining yogurt from the bottom of the container with the tip of her spoon. Her actions were graceful; birdlike in their gentility. He noticed she had given up on the hair band, pinning back her hair with a clip. It was thin and red, a swallow with its open wings gliding across the surface. Her complexion was fresh and vibrant, a light coat of mascara and blush as her only cosmetics. His eyes traveled to her hands, now digging in her lunchbox, and the thin wrists that were adorned with bracelets. Some were clearly made by hand, the threads uneven in some areas. Others were beaded and carried a vintage appearance. Her only ring was silver with a blue heart mosaic melted in.

"Do you want my sandwich?" she asked, holding out the sandwich to him. It was wrapped in aluminum foil inside a plastic snap-close bag.

He was startled from his reverie by her question, righting himself. He had leaned over significantly while trying to understand the writing scribbled onto the face of her binder. His hunger was immediately riled and he smiled.

"Yes, actually, thanks," he replied, gladly accepting the offer, "I'm starving.

"Why didn't you go to lunch?" she asked, packing away her remaining lunch, leaving out a bag of chips.

"Why didn't you?" he countered, swallowing the last bite of the ham and cheese sandwich.

She turned to look at him, the first time since he had joined her, acknowledging his point. He returned her gaze, raising his brows and grinning contentedly.

"Because I wanted to think." she replied simply, swiftly opening the chips.

"Me too." he responded.

She turned to look at him again, a small grin on her face, before turning away. She passed her chip bag to him and he pulled out a few, silently thanking her by placing his hand on hers as he took them. They continued to snack in the small niche, light conversation and laughter bubbling from them. It was open and unhindered by outside stresses, a private moment they could share. He knew that it was a moment dictated by friendship and its restrictions, but it did not irk him, at least, for the moment. Her friendship was enough for him.


	9. The Weight of Acquaintance

Sorry its taken so long everybody! I made a long chapter just to make up for it! Thanks for all the reviews as well! I love you guys! (don't be hesitant to review your thoughts/criticisms)

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**Chapter 9: The Weight of Acquaintance**

He waited for her by the gym, the sound of volleyballs hitting palms in the air. Practice had ended early; Coach Howell's wife called about a family emergency. Today they were going to work on their project together and they had agreed to meet in front of the gym. He was still filled with a warm tipsy from their earlier lunch date, even though he knew she would never recognize it as such. He had begun to drift sleepily into a daydream when he heard her voice yell out.

"I got it!" she said, the sound of a ball smacking her hand following shortly.

He smiled to himself, taking pride in her athletic ability. She had called a ball four times in the past fifteen minutes. Though he was not allowed inside, he could picture the way she moved as she played. He could imagine the way the muscles in her thighs became more pronounced as she moved around the court in a bend. The way the skin of her hand tightened as she spread it wide to hit the ball, feeling its soft scrape on her palm. He could even picture the curvature of her spine as she crouched low to power her hit.

He was brought from his imaginings by the slam of the gym's side door, the sighs of relief losing themselves in the locker room. He straightened as he heard her voice emerge from the locker room, the gentle slap of her flip flops on the ground. She smiled as she rounded the corner, a shy, reserved smile, but a smile nonetheless. He smiled in return and waved. It was not like him, but he had no choice. He would have preferred to walk to her and hug her and ask her how practice went, but he only just became her friend. Or so he liked to think, because she had yet to retire her reticent attitude. He noticed she was carrying her gym bag cross-body with her books and book bag atop and became worried that it was too heavy. As if to prove his point, she had turned around to wave goodbye to a friend and he could see the slight reddening of her shoulder where the strap weighed down.

"Here let me carry your bag." he said and reached for the bag. She was momentarily surprised by his sudden action but handed it to him. He swiftly placed the books out of her reach, smiling cheekily at her bemused expression.

"Thank you," she mumbled quietly, looking down confusedly, "it was heavy."

He merely nodded and caught a glimpse of her clothes as she watched someone tinker with their locker. She was wearing a gray pair of cropped sweats and a team shirt, her flip-flopped feet clad in pink socks. Before her appearance, however, he was taken by her smell. It was sweet as usual but with light notes of baby powder. It mixed nicely in his nose and he searched for the tell tale signs of his favorite powder. His mother had used it on him copiously as a child, claiming he was never completely clean without a dusting. He continued to use it as he grew older, comforted by the smell. Since childhood, however, he had reduced the once extensive dusting to only his upper body. She stopped suddenly, as if reminded of something and opened her book bag's front zipper. She breathed a sigh of relief when she had found what she was looking for, extracting her keys from the safety pocket. She laughed quietly at her silliness.

"I thought I had forgotten them in my sweater pocket." she said, the keys tinkling in her hand. He smiled softly, amused by her reactions. He now remembered she had been wearing a sweater in third period but not in fourth, probably due to the warming temperature of the afternoon.

Though he was wrapped in all of her doings he remained conscious of her blood pressure and bodily heat. He noticed its sudden spike as they left the school campus and into the parking lot, no longer surrounded by people. The conversation had dwindled after passing the lockers and he watched as her eyes moved anxiously around the lot for her car, as if she could not find it fast enough. He felt a burn in his heart at the trembling fingers which made her keys jingle.

As they approached her car she was distracted by the ringing of her cell phone, a melodic chime tone playing continuously.

"Um, can you get that for me?" she said as she moved the bags in her trunk around to make space for her gym bag, her hands full.

It was only when the phone continued to ring that he realized it was in the front pocket of her bag. He unzipped it and picked up the phone, flipping the top. He was immediately infuriated by the name which appeared and felt a strong surge of power course through his hand. He balanced the phone delicately between the fingers of both hands, controlling his urge to smash the phone.

_Josh_

He quickly clicked the 'end' button and the call disappeared, moving itself into the missed calls folder.

"Who was it?" she asked as she slipped on the flats she had removed from a bag in the trunk.

"Your mom," he lied, deleting the call from the list of missed calls, "but she didn't leave a voicemail."

"Oh okay, I'll call her back later." she replied and he placed the bags in the back of her car before she could protest.

He could still feel her unease as they waved goodbye and he reminded her of the library's address. He knew she did not need to be reminded but he wanted to extend the meeting for just a moment more. He watched as she drove away from the seat of his car, his body tingling with his lie. It felt as if he was outside of himself, uncomfortable in his own skin. He was plagued with the guilt of his lie, his heart grieving his deceit. He knew his guilt swirled around jealousy, and he flexed his fingers on the steering wheel. Unable to shake-off the feeling, he tried to picture the smile she had given him earlier today but it only comforted him slightly. It was a hazy image, blurred by mixed emotions and the images of his childhood.

His mood followed him into the library, his presence filling the cavernous building. The lobby was dimly lit, the large window above the door shut with curtains. The front clerk wore a bored expression; the people in line were serious and subdued. The solemn ambiance only deepened his guilt and he walked quickly through the doors into the book room. The room smelled ancient; a dusty smell of cold air and book spines. But mixed in was the sweet smell of Jenna, the baby powder fragrance lingering behind. He followed the smell to the computer area and found her sitting by the fourth computer. He smiled and pulled a chair beside her.

She immediately stiffened at the closeness.

It was as if he had entered her bubble without permission. She tried flipping a page, scribbling something incomprehensible onto her notepad. He knew that her unease would prevent them from making any gains on the assignment.

"Um, hold on, I forgot my phone," he lied, making a face of slight annoyance, "I'll be right back."

He stood up and walked towards the side exit, trying to convince himself the sigh he heard wasn't in relief.

It was muggy and humid, the air passing thickly through his lungs. He unlocked the driver door and slid into his seat, shutting the door softly. He placed his hands on the steering wheel and tried to think of something else but the longing to be beside her again. Though the air smelled heavily of rain and vegetation, he could still remember the sweetness she carried. He could never escape her; her face smiled at him in every thought. A faint buzzing brought him from his thoughts and he opened the small envelope flashing on the screen.

_Hurry up!_

He smiled and snapped the phone close, opening the door and stepping out. Maybe today would end better than he thought.

"Henry the fifth." she told him, highlighting sections in their history workbook.

"Another one?" he complained, writing the name under 'Rulers' in the outline she had drawn up.

His hand was cramping painfully; the small pencil they had scavenged was no bigger than his pinky. They had tried to find another one but neither of them had any in their bags and the front desk refused to loan them a pen, claiming they were already short on supplies. He flexed his right hand, feeling the stiffness in his fingers.

"I know, I know. This is the last chapter though." she replied, counting the number of pages left in the section. She shook the highlighter a few times before marking over a few dates.

They continued to work in a friendly silence, interrupted only by her note dictation and the frequent crack of his knuckles. He watched her when she looked away or was absorbed in the material, admiring the way her lips mouthed important names. He enjoyed most when she looked down, her thick lashes spread like a fan over her eyes. They curled upwards, touching her brows with their tips. Her brows were dark and neatly arched, curving over her eyes beautifully and complementing her face. She had restyled her hair on a trip to the restroom and it was now in a French braid, wispy hairs pinned back by her swallow. Her hair was black and glossy as usual, smelling sweetly of honey. He gently pulled from his reverie by her soft sigh as she closed the workbook.

"I think this is enough for today, I'm so tired." she mumbled quietly, capping her highlighter and tossing it in her bag.

"Me too. My hand's about to fall off." he joked, aiming and launching the pencil into the trash by the help counter.

They cleared up their things and he folded the notes into his back pocket. She stared at him and he laughed, saying it was the only way he would remember he had them. It was only them and a few stragglers left in the library. The lights towards the back had already been shut-off. They walked outside silently, neither saying anything to disrupt the semi-calmness. He could feel the rise of her body temperature as they exited into the parking lot by themselves. Night had quickly overcome La Push as they worked, the bright stars shining in the sky. He walked at an even pace behind her, smiling when she realized they were still walking in the same direction.

She stopped at her car and turned to stare at him, a slight annoyance appearing on her face when she realized he had parked right next to her.

"I didn't know you drove a buggy." he lied, having distantly stalked her to her car the first day of school. It was a pale blue with a black convertible top.

"Yeah, you know, it was just a coincidence." she replied sarcastically, a small smile appearing on her lips despite herself.

"Yeah," he laughed, "guess it was. You go out first. See you at school." he said, smiling at her and wishing he could say more. He caught himself as the words 'miss you' formed in the back of his throat. He swallowed them in a thick lump and opened the driver door.

"Alright, see you." she said, waving goodbye and sliding into her car seat.

He waited patiently for her to pull out when he heard a familiar whirring. He heard her turn the key several times, only to be met with the same dead whir. He also heard the bad word leave her mouth in a whisper. Though his vocabulary was littered with profanities, he had never expected such a word to come from hers. He could not imagine such a filthy word forming on her strawberry lips. He was about to sigh, but smiled instead. Though he felt horrible about her car, it could open a door for him. He dropped his smile into one of curiosity as he stepped out and knocked on her glass.

She opened the door and came out, her phone pressed to her ear. When the line continued to ring, she snapped it close and leaned back against her buggy. He gripped the window frame on his car and leaned against it as well.

"Great, its almost ten, my battery is dead, and the auto shop is closed." she said aloud, closing her eyes as she took a breath.

"I don't have any cables on me." he said apologetically, searching for the right opportunity to start his plan.

"How am I supposed to get home? I can't walk..." she said, whispering the last part because of the tightness in her throat.

He could almost taste the tears before they fell. The time was now.

"How's this, I'll take you home and you can call the auto shop tomorrow." he offered, fighting the urge to smile at his opportunity. He kept himself from squeezing the frame.

She lifted her head then, staring him in the eyes. He could see the internal battle she was fighting, of whether to trust him or not. Her brown eyes seemed to glitter in the night and he was so transfixed he almost missed her reply.

"Okay."

He nodded and mumbled 'alright' before opening the door for her. He held out a hand for her to hold and she climbed into the high seat and she seemed to ignore it, then changed her mind and gripped it. He watched the alarmed expression on her face as she felt the heat but feigned nonchalance. He shut her door and walked around, reminding himself to turn on the air so that she would not boil with him beside her.

He opened the door and sat in the driver's seat, revving the engine and flicking the air knob with his middle finger. The air came smoothly from the vents, swirling her chamomile and honey scent his way. It encircled him and he had to keep himself from closing his eyes and sighing. He turned around to pull-out, holding the shoulder of her seat with his right hand. He couldn't help but turn back quickly to adjust his mirror, allowing him another glimpse of her profile. _Beautiful_.

"Do you mind if I turn the radio on?" she asked, feeling uncomfortable in the silence.

"No, go ahead." he responded happily, wondering what kind of music she enjoyed.

She turned the dial several times, surfing through the different stations, sampling snippets of songs from each. He was surprised when she settled on a slightly static channel, 1940's big band whistling away. It was a fast tune, jumpy and exciting. The song ended shortly and he watched her eyes perk up when the next song began.

"I love this song…" she murmured, looking to him with her hand on the volume knob, silently asking if she could raise it.

"Sure, sounds good." he granted and commented.

The smooth sound of the crooner's voice lulled him into deep thought. It was as if the crooner were singing to him, singing his life out before him. He listened intently to the words and imagined himself singing them, so closely did the lyrics express his feelings. As the chorus came in he could not help himself from singing the first few words, before stopping in embarrassment when she turned at the sound of his voice. He could see her grin reflected on the passenger window as she looked out at the night. The song ended with the crooner singing his final request and he felt a warmth and sadness at the same moment. Warmth because he had found a song that seemed to sing his love for her, and sadness because it was over.

"What song was that?" he asked, surprising himself with the softness of the words. It was as if he had lost his ability to speak.

" 'I Don't Want to Set the World On Fire,' by The Ink Spots." she replied, just as softly, both enjoying the song's warmth.

Both were silent and he thought about her home. He was surprised when she had yet to tell him when to stop or turn. He knew she lived in La Push, but he was curious to know where exactly. Residential La Push was like an 'E' whose vertical line extended beyond the horizontal three. The vertical line was the main road; Fork's began the line and Jacob Black's house ended it. There was only open road, First Beach, and the few shops and grocery store on said road. The actual residences were on the horizontal lines, each line a great distance away from the other. He lived on the last, nearest to Jacob. There were only three houses on his street, each a fair distance away, but no more than a mile.

She remained silent, even as they passed First Beach, and he wondered where she lived on the rez.

"What's your address, Jenna?" he asked as he lowered the volume on the radio, watching as she came from her musical trance. They were nearing his turn and he became anxious.

"2780 Alder street," she replied, pulling her bag into her lap, "we're close."

His heart seemed to palpitate at the address. She lived on his street and right beside him. Embry's house, across the street, was 2781 while his was 2782. He controlled his breathing, feeling anxiety and delight. He was delighted she lived so close to him, but anxious as to how she would react to him living less than a short walk away.

"It's going to be our first night in our new house. We finally finished unpacking yesterday after school." she said to him, her verbal courage increasing as they neared her home.

"That's cool…" he managed to force out, his eyes staring blankly at her house, his own now visible.

He shook his head slightly and admired her house. It was white, with two stories, and a wicker love seat on the small porch. It was almost identical to his, except his parents had decided to keep the natural wood exposed. There was no car in the cobbled driveway and he felt her temperature spike at realizing so. He could feel her anxiety at being alone with him, at night, with no one around for a while. He pulled into her driveway and held in a sigh, his emotions like a turbulent storm in his heart. The only sound was the slight hum of the engine. He moved his hand over the buttons on the door rest. She slipped on her bag and was about to unbuckle, but ceased instantly when the locks clicked down. It was silent.

"Jenna… I'm not like that anymore…" he whispered, his voice meek and overcome by the weight of the previous silence.

She lowered her gaze to the dash board, her body motionless.

"… You can trust me…"

The locks clicked again and she unstrapped, opening the passenger door and stepping out, her voice incapable of sound. He could hear his breathing, his heart pounding in his chest. She walked in front of his car, never looking at him, and up the stairs of her porch. He watched as she searched for her keys, opening the door mechanically, as if her mind was somewhere other than in her body. He watched as she went in, a hand still on the door. He watched as she watched him, holding his gaze as the space between the door and its frame became smaller and smaller. It closed.

He took in a large breath, releasing it shakily. The intensity of her gaze left him slightly burned; he had never felt the connection held with their eyes. It was as if she was looking inside him, searching out the part of him she thought she could trust. He stared because she was so beautiful, the fervor of her gaze burning him wondrously. A small light glowed through a curtain upstairs and he backed his car out of the driveway. Though she thought he could not see, he saw her fingers pulled back a curtain from a window opposite the light. He knew she would keep watching until he drove away. He turned back onto the main road, driving back the way they had come, memories painfully crowding his mind.

He drove for a while before turning back around and driving by her house, the light no longer on, to his own. Parking in his driveway, he cut the engine and leaned in his seat. The silence of night overwhelmed him; the soundless space swallowing him with its cruelty. He could still see blue stains on his hands, a scissor glinting in the afternoon sun, watching as she walked away from him, her little feet taking her to a safer place. Fate had changed them, but one thing seemed to always be the same: the ageless burn of tears.


	10. Delight, Interrupted

Just a note: the story is inspired by the song Gravity by Sara Bareilles

**Chapter 10: Delight, Interrupted **

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The rain came down around ten, pelting his window in uneven rhythms. Though it was fairly dark, he could see perfectly. The rain had cast a gray tinge to the landscape, banishing the bright starlight from view. It was as if he was looking at an old black and white photograph; timeless and poignant. He had not slept all night, his mind in a chaos of thoughts. The intensity of her eyes burned in his mind, the fire in their depths singeing him sweetly.

He sighed, not sure of his approach, but sure of his motive. Stepping out of his bed, he stretched slowly, enjoying the satisfying cracks. He slid the window up and slipped out, falling weightlessly towards the ground. His landing made a sound similar to dropping a small pebble in soft earth; almost noiseless. He jogged to her house in under ten seconds and walked around the front, trying to find a landing. He found her window, knowing it by memory, but it was freestanding, with only a small ledge connected to the sill. He sighed, realizing the ledge was only wide enough for one arm.

He ran backwards a few yards, eyeing the distance and estimating the force of a jump. He raced forward and leaped, soaring above the ground like an eagle. His hands caught the ledge and he quickly pressed the balls of his feet against the house, successfully muffling his landing. He pulled himself up, placing on arm on top of the other horizontally on the ledge. It was locked, of course, but the curtains had not fully met, allowing him to peek through.

The room was a sleepy blue, accented with white trim and a myriad of feminine accessories. Her vanity was decorated with perfume bottles, hair bands, and a small box of makeup. Her bed was in a corner, like his, a small nightlight glowing near it. Her bed sheets were blue and white, her pillowcase a bright yellow. She had drawn the sheets up to her chin, her dark hair loose and wild around her. Her face was serene; her brow relaxed and her mouth delicate.

Her tranquility soothed him and he yearned to be with her, his heart aching at their separation. He looked over her covered body, seeing her arm exposed. Her diamond bracelet glinted brightly in the moonlight, his heart clenching at the sight. The memory appeared in his mind, and he tried to ignore it, hating the way it ruined his peace.

He felt the slight prick in his eyes and the ticklish burn on his nose, but he shook it away, mortified at his tears. He had never cried about any action he had done, but he was also embarrassed that he would be so callous as to not cry for her. Her wondrous beauty once again overtook him and he fought the sudden urge to break the window and rush to her side. Inhaling a quiet breath, he gently touched the glass, allowing only his fingertips and the edge of his palm. He knew that if he exerted even the smallest force, the glass would shatter.

He tried to imagine moving the curtain aside and slipping in, feeling the bronze skin on his palm. He closed his eyes and breathed in the night air, traces of her scent lingering in his nose. The pain of their separation overwhelmed him suddenly and he quickly retracted his hand, knowing that in the moment's passion he could break the glass.

Knowing he had stayed far too long, he leaped away from the window, landing gracefully on his heels. As he walked away, the pain and worry overtook him and he longed to return to his visual torture. Yet he ignored the desire and continued forward, struggling to keep his body from turning around. He wanted to feel the pain; the bottomless shame and hurt at the wicked things he had subjected her to.

He wanted to take her pain away and bring it upon himself, a warped punishment he viewed as atonement. He shut his eyes tightly and focused on the steady double beat of his steps, fighting against the tension as his body tried to move in opposite directions. He closed his fists as the fiery tickle ran up his spine, his emotions pushing a phase.

His mind was in a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings. They were so interwoven he could only feel the emotion of a memory, the memory itself blurry and unfocused. He laid down on his bed and sighed, his fingers clenching tightly at his mattress. Her smile moved in and out of focus and his dream reappeared in between. Her hair was still in a flurry around her face, but he knew she was not smiling as she was in his other thoughts. The diamond bracelet flashed briefly before his mind ceased to procure images, his self-control centered completely on not phasing.

Everything was jittery in his vision, as if it was being shaken around. The tickle began to subside and he relaxed his vice on the mattress, gently pressing down the foam that spilled out of the rips. He sighed and ran a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes. Then he realized he was moving.

His body moved forward and he fought to lie back on the bed, his mind divided. Half was commanding his body to the window, trying to satisfy his instinctual need to be with her. The other was his aware and fighting conscious, pulling him towards his bed. The painful discordance kept sleep away and he found himself outside various times when his self-control lapsed. He found himself closer to her window each time, but he only pulled himself away when light notes of sweetness touched his senses.

The night dragged on and he found himself staring madly at the clock, cringing when he counted the hours left till morning. He was not sure what time it was that he had fallen asleep, but he remembered the pain slipping away and his mind focusing centrally on the peace of sleep.

He awoke at six, sunrise already finishing its diurnal ascent, and pulled the sheets over his face. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, mentally crossing the distance between them and centering himself on her. In the muffled space under his sheets he could hear the steady beat of her heart, though only faintly, because he was still in a slumber daze. Though his body was urging him to her, he remained fairly in control and used her heartbeat to lull him back to sleep.

* * *

Her hair was loose today. She ran a hand through it casually every so often and her sweetness floated over to him every time. The smell brought him into a peaceful trance, catching his eyelids fluttering twice. The smell seemed to tug his emotions upwards when he inhaled it and then back down as it was released. It was shiny and smooth and usual and he remembered the silk feel on his fingers.

Even though he had only written two sentences on foreign trade policies, first period's bleak hope was gleaming brighter every second. He was overwhelmed by the sweetness when she abruptly leaned back and shook out her hair, laughing when the girl behind her jokingly complained. It encircled him and he fought the urge to walk up to her and touch her hair.

He had managed slight focus during the class and looked up at Jenna every few moments, watching as her hand moved back and forth across the page. He noticed her handwriting was a neat cursive, the letters connected delicately in loops. He found it befitting and suppressed the smile that tugged at his mouth. The girl behind her had placed her pencils on the edge of her desk and shifting her books she knocked them onto the floor.

He watched as Jenna leaned over the side bar of her own desk, her back curving over the side as she picked up two pencils. She turned around to place them back on her neighbor's desk, smiling and waving away the 'thank you.' Then her eyes drifted towards the back of the room and landed on him. Unable to contain himself any longer, he grinned.

Her eyes seemed to sparkle and her grin was soft and kind as she looked at him.

Sparing him one last glance, she turned away and his heart seemed to leap from its place. She had smiled at him before but this one was unreserved and free of caution. It was sweet and he knew that somewhere, deep down, he had healed a torn bond inside her.

* * *

He waved goodbye to the rest of the guys, clapping Jared on the back as he exited the locker room. He took in a relaxing breath, images of Jenna and her lovely smile swirling around between a mental checklist of homework in his mind. He could feel the air around him heavy with rain and made note of the change in pressure, his body feeling slightly abnormal as he adjusted. The weather had changed rather quickly; he was sweating profusely in the afternoon heat little over an hour ago.

The parking lot was fairly empty and he made his way to his Jeep, pulling his keys from his pocket. As he opened his door, he was suddenly distracted by a faint giggling and two sharply contrasting smells. One was unfamiliar and obnoxiously intruding; the fruity stench burned in his nose. The second was _very_ familiar; the cool, breezy scent distinct and unforgettable.

His mouth twitched as he scoped them out in the parking lot, his eyes scanning around cars. The mild wind brought the scents closer and his nose wrinkled in disgust. He found them by Josh's Audi, his body keeping the other scent from view. He could not see the other person, but there were two things he did not need to see to be sure of.

One, it was a girl.

Two, it was not Jenna.

The girl laughed again and slapped Josh playfully, who in turn hugged her closer and buried his face into her neck. As she once again erupted in giggles, he got a view of her. Her dark hair was braided to the side and hung off her shoulder, a pink band holding it together. She had dark brown eyes and nicely framing brows.

To anyone she could have been considered attractive, but she was hideous to him. Her hair was dull and her skin an ugly tan. Her eyes were like small roaches and had an unflattering smile. Josh kissed her cheek before her mouth, slipping of the pink hair band and loosening her hair. She arms clutched desperately around his waist and her hands were under his shirt, feeling the skin of his back.

His body was shaking madly; his fury reaching its peak. His eyes were burning from not being lubricated by blinks, but he could not look away from the sight. Jenna was being _played_. The anger seemed to come alive at the shame and disgrace of the thought it. He imagined Josh's arrogant smile as he talked to Jenna; remorseless and uncaring. His leg moved a step in their direction as the girl laughed again, Josh's conceited one mingling in. Jenna was being played. _His_ Jenna was being played.

He took in many short breaths, his vision lined in red. The feather tickled madly and he jerked several times, trying to hold in the transformation. He tried to calmly put his things in the back, but slammed them down instead, successfully denting the lining. The sound alerted Josh and the slut and he purposefully looked away, completely sure that he was not in control. He slid into his seat, fumbling with his keys because of his shaking. He contemplated getting out and beating Josh to a pulp, but then decided against it. He did not want to get arrested; in jail away from Jenna was more excruciating than anything.

_Jenna. I'm doing this for Jenna._ He repeated the mantra in his mind until he backed out of the parking lot, making sure to drive through the opposite exit. The drive home was challenging and he was forced to stop several times, the constant quivering flaring when he thought of Josh. In his anger, he drove right in front of Jenna's house to his, suddenly not caring about keeping disguise.

He could not care less if she saw him drive by; the only thing he could think about was Josh. His lip curled back in revulsion at the name and he forced himself to take large breaths through his nose, slamming the door open as he stepped out. It unhinged slightly and he snarled angrily before tearing it off completely. The metal screeched harshly as it slid on the concrete.

Jenna was being cheated on. It was all he could think about. He picked up the door and launched it into the air, his anger reaching its climax. His shaking was erratic; his control on a fine balance. One more thing and he would lose it completely. _Jenna is being cheated on by Josh Hart._

He exploded.


End file.
